Peace
by Elwen Of The Hidden Valley
Summary: Friends try to help Frodo when they return to the Shire
1. Chapter 1

I don't own LOTR. I wish I did. This is a fanfic. Not intended to make any money from JRR Tolkien's work but a homage to it in my own small way.

PEACE

Chapter 1

The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. But Strider was hundreds of leagues away in Minas Tirith and Merry did not know what to do. The king had saved Frodo before, but there was no one now who could help.

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When Sam had written to his friend in October, telling him of Frodo's indisposition on the anniversary of his wounding at Weathertop, Merry had wondered. Gandalf had made veiled reference to Frodo's body remembering its injuries and something had nudged Merry. He knew that Sam and Rosie were expecting the birth of their first child any day now and decided it would be a good excuse to come visiting. What could be more natural than to want to be around when one of his best friends was expecting his firstborn?

But Merry's main concern was his cousin Frodo. Sam and Rosie were too wrapped up in their own worries and Merry was quite certain that Frodo would not wish to let them know, if he did fall ill. And so Merry had written to Sam and Frodo asking if they could use an extra pair of hands around the place in March. It was Sam who had written back. Frodo had apparently been a little reluctant and Sam and Rosie had needed to reassure him that they could cope with the extra visitor.

Merry's unease had grown. Frodo would not usually have put up any objections for he was quite able to look after the entire household when necessary. He may be used to being waited upon by Rosie and Sam but he had lived alone in Bag End for several years after Bilbo left and was perfectly capable of cooking a decent meal and keeping the place ticking over. Merry had decided to ignore any of Frodo's protests and had arrived, whistling, on the fifth of March.

To his surprise, it was Rosie who answered the door, her face wreathed in smiles. "Welcome, Mr Brandybuck. Come in and get warm. It's a bit of a wild day. Seems like March is still playing at lion instead of lamb. Although it's been a lovely spring, for all that." She led him into the parlour, where Sam was kindling a small fire in the grate.

Merry laughed. "Well, maybe we need a good blow to dust off the last cobwebs of winter."

In his chair by the hearth Frodo winced, but then Merry watched him gather a smile and jump up. "Merry. You came!"

Soon Merry's arms were filled with the familiar shape and smell of his older cousin, as he was hugged tightly. Only the hug was not as tight as it once was and the figure in his arms was too slender. Trying not to hug too tightly in return, for fear of crushing the frailer form, Merry glanced over Frodo's shoulder, to catch a strange, wistful expression on Sam's face.

Frodo released him and turned him towards another chair by the hearth. "Take off your cloak and come and toast your toes. I believe that wind is what Bilbo would call, "brisk"."

Merry chuckled as he unfastened the clasp and handed his cloak to the waiting Sam. "You mean it's strong enough to blow over a grown hobbit and as cold as Lobelia's gaze."

"I've got some chicken soup on the hob," announced Rosie. I'll bring in some and you can have your luncheon in here while you chat." Merry smiled fondly as he watched Sam hold the door open for his rather gravid wife.

Turning, Merry was surprised by a strange look in Frodo's eyes. Sadness? Loss? Realising that he had been caught out, the Master of Bag End leaned forward and poked the fire unnecessarily. His usually soft and melodic voice sounded forced as he leapt into the sudden silence. "So, how are things in Buckland? I hear the harvest was good."

"Yes. It's been a good harvest everywhere . . . thanks largely, I think, to our good Sam and the Lady Galadriel's gift."

Frodo laid the poker aside and leaned back in his chair, one hand fingering a fine silver chain about his neck. "I'm glad things are getting back to normal." His voice had dropped to its usual softness but there was a hint of pain within it.

Merry could only imagine the agony Frodo had felt when he returned to their beloved Shire, to find it under Sharkey's rule. The one thing that they had all struggled to protect had been over-run after all. But Frodo had fought the greatest battle to spare the Shire and its marring must have cut him the deepest although as always, he had never let anyone into his grief.

Reaching forward to warm his hands against the glow of the fire, Merry tried to make light of it. "We Bucklanders are a tough lot. We're used to dealing with trouble and I think we have everything coming back to normal. We've cleared the drainage ditches. Sharkey's lot had filled most of them with rubbish. So the smials closer to the river have dried out now and the pressure is easing off Brandy Hall. I'm convinced we could not have fitted one more hobbit in there, although we took in all who came."

Finally satisfied that his fingers were no longer going to drop off from the cold, Merry leaned back and propped his feet on the hearth. "At one point we had a family of five living in your old bedroom."

Frodo's brows rose in amazement. "Five! There was hardly room for me in that little cupboard. You were that full? You wrote of the overcrowding but I had no idea it was that bad. However did you manage to feed them all in that first year?"

Merry turned to gaze into the flames. "We did the best we could and shared out what we had. Even so, we lost a lot, especially those who had been in the lockup. Most of them were half-dead when we brought them out. You saw them."

"Yes, I did. Poor Lobelia."

Merry cursed himself silently for his earlier comment. There had been little ice in Lobelia's gaze when Frodo lead her out and no fire either.

The solemn mood was lifted by the return of Sam and Rosie, bearing trays filled with chicken soup and fresh baked bread, still warm from the oven.

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Merry looked down at his cousin, pale as the alabaster figures on the tombs of the kings in Minas Tirith. One trembling hand clutched a jewel hanging from a silver chain about his neck but his eyes were closed and there was no sign of the peace that was to be found in those statues.

To comply with his cousin's wish to keep this from Sam and Rosie, he would have to keep Frodo in the study. But although the small couch was comfortable enough, Frodo needed blankets and other supplies.

Slipping off his jacket, Merry spread it over his cousin, then tiptoed to the door. He need not have bothered for Frodo did not stir.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Merry awoke to the pervasive smell of bacon cooking and rolled over in his large and comfortable bed. It was still dark outside but the horizon was lightening towards the east, heralding the dawn. The wind had died down during the night although there was still a nip in the air and Merry dressed hurriedly, using cold water from the ewer on his washstand for a quick splash. Then he ran a comb through his hair before venturing forth to seek out the source of the wonderful smell.

He followed his nose and the sound of muffled conversation, both of which eventually led him to the kitchen. For a moment he stood in the doorway. Sam was setting the table for three and Rosie stood at the range, nudging thick slices of bacon in a frying pan. Sam finished arranging the cutlery and headed off to the dresser to collect cups and plates. On his way past his wife he bent to nuzzle her neck and she shooed him off with a giggle and a quick swat on his behind with her free hand. Both turned and blushed when Merry chuckled.

"Now here's a scene of domestic bliss. Don't you take any nonsense from our Sam, Rosie. You keep him in his place. He will have to be sane and sensible once that baby arrives."

Sam's blush deepened and he reached for crockery but Rosie giggled as she turned back to the bacon. "I hope he don't get too sensible. I'm planning on a big family."

Merry closed the door to stop his answering laughter from drifting up the hallway to Frodo's room. Frodo had never been an early riser and would not thank any of them for waking him before sun up. He had rarely been known to make first breakfast and had even been known to miss the second.

"Can I help with the breakfast?" asked Merry.

"No, Mr Merry. You're company and I was just about to bring you some hot water for a wash." Sam made to fill a jug from the copper but Merry waved him off.

"I've had a wash. I find I don't mind washing in cold water as much as I used to. And anyway, I hope you don't really consider me as company. I'd rather be considered family."

"You could fetch the bread and butter from the pantry if you would," Rosie piped up, before Sam could say any more. "Oh . . . and the milk."

Only a few minutes later all three were settled at the table, their plates piled high with bacon, eggs, tomato, sausage and mushrooms. There was a large pot of tea and plenty of bread and butter, with a jar of last summer's strawberry jam to fill up any corners.

The conversation was as filling as the food and there was much talk of babies and gardens, building and recovery. When the plates were emptied and only the last cups of strong tea left, Rosie levered herself up off her chair with her husband's willing help.

"Well. I'm off to see to the Gaffer's lunch, Sam. I thought I'd make him a casserole with that scrag end of lamb my Da sent over yesterday."

"Right you are, Rosie love. Take care going down that hill."

Rosie only rolled her eyes as she picked up the plate of meat and headed out the door. Sam got up to wash the dishes and Merry watched from the table. Even family did not always offer to help with the dishes.

"I've heard a lot about you and Rosie from Frodo's letters. You three seem to rubbing along well together and I don't think I've ever seen Bag End look this tidy."

Sam chuckled. "Rosie has worked wonders. Even before . . . that is . . . before Sharkey . . . Bag End was what my Auntie Daff used to call, "eccentrically cluttered". She was like Mr Bilbo, was Auntie Daff, a big one for the words. Although where she got them from none of us could make out."

Merry took a large mouthful of tea, grimacing slightly at its tart strength. He had rarely known Sam so voluble before and it usually meant that he was winding himself up to something.

"Mr Frodo was fine enough at making a meal but he was never much on tidiness. Although anything was an improvement on Mr Bilbo those last couple of years before he left." Sam's hazel eyes grew thoughtful and he paused in gathering the plates. "But then, I expect he had other things on his mind, if you take my meaning."

"I expect it took some persuading to get Frodo to contain his clutter to the study," Merry commented lightly. He was very much aware of the silence suddenly and was afraid he may have overstepped one of Sam's unwritten master-servant rules. Then Sam lifted his eyes from the table and Merry's heart stopped at the deep concern he saw there.

"That's what worries me, Mr Merry. He didn't make any fuss at all. In fact, besides those papers of Mr Bilbo's that he brought back with him, he don't seem to have much clutter. Oh, I know he didn't take many books with him to Crickhollow and there wasn't a whole one to be found here when we came back. But he's not been doing much reading either."

Merry frowned. "Frodo, not reading? Now that is odd."

Sam glanced at the hall doorway then went on. "He's got me sitting on the edge of my seat all the time. He's that quiet that he often comes up on me unawares. You know how he was . . . before. He was always running about, singing or talking. You knew when he was about."

Merry nodded encouragement. It seemed that now he had opened the door on Sam's concerns he need do little more prodding to let the whole tale spill out from his friend's worried mind.

"Now, I hardly see him most days. He says good morning and sits with us for supper but he spends most of the rest of the day shut away in his study. Says he's got to get that book finished. It's not healthy. Being locked up all day with those memories."

Setting down his now cold tea, Merry winced. "Sorry, Sam. I think I'm partly to blame for that. Pip and I did encourage him to write it down before he forgot it."

Sam met his gaze squarely, something he would never have done a few years before. "That's the trouble. We want to forget it but we can't."

The import of Sam's use of the plural was not lost on Merry. They had all seen and done things they would rather not remember, but Sam and Frodo had most need of the gift of healing that comes with time and age . . . forgetfulness.

"Oh Sam. I'm so sorry." Merry reached out to grasp Sam's hand upon the table.

"Sorry about what?" Frodo's light and inquisitive voice made them both jump and they looked up to find him standing in the doorway, his hair still tousled from sleep.

Merry recovered first, patting Sam's hand and smiling brightly at his cousin. "Why, sorry that you missed an excellent breakfast. And sorry that I haven't had occasion to sample Rosie's cooking before."

Frodo's smile was a little crooked but he obviously decided not to pursue the matter. "I don't suppose there's any of that breakfast left for me, Sam? Or has my cousin guzzled the lot?"

"There's plenty left, Mr Frodo. There's hot water in the copper for your wash and I'll put some more bacon on while your dressing." Sam moved quickly to the stove and began to bustle about as Frodo helped himself to a jug of hot water and took it back to his room.

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Merry slipped down the hallway towards his bedroom. The door to Sam and Rosie's room was closed and he assumed that Rosie was taking her afternoon nap. But where was Sam?

He arrived at his room without encountering either of the smial's other occupants and collected a basin, washcloth and jug of cold water. At least with these he could cool Frodo's fever a little. Merry eyed the blankets on his bed and decided he would have to risk coming back for them.

It was as he left that he found Sam. He was waiting outside Frodo's study, arms filled with blankets, and he smiled tightly at Merry.

"You'll be needing these. He gets chilled when he has these bad turns."

"Thank you, Sam." Merry set down the basin and jug so that he could open the study door.

Sam's chin trembled and Merry could see tears welling in his eyes. "He doesn't want us worrying, because of the baby. And I don't want him to know that I worry about him every day, baby or no. I know you'll look after him proper." He handed over the blankets and turned away towards the door to the garden.

Merry wondered into the parlour, to find Rosie sitting by the window, sewing.

"Hello, Mr Merry. Did you enjoy your walk?"

"I did, indeed. Hobbiton almost looks like its old self. Although it will be a few years before the trees fill out. That nip in the air has passed as well." Joining Rosie by the window, Merry smiled as he saw what she was working on. "It's a pretty night-gown but what happens if the baby is a boy. He may not be too pleased with pink embroidery."

Rosie reached into her workbasket and pulled out an identical garment, edged in blue. Her face dimpled. "If it don't do for this time, it will for the next. I told you. I'm aiming for a big family."

Merry laughed and then glanced about the room.

"If you're looking for Mr Frodo, he'll be in his study. He came in for his breakfast as usual and then off he went, to write in that dratted book of his. I hope you'll pardon my language but I wish he'd leave it alone." Rosie looked across at Merry pleadingly. "I wish he'd gone out with you for that walk instead. He needs to get some colour in his cheeks."

"Maybe writing it all down will lay it to rest, so that he can move on." Merry rubbed his hand, remembering the chill that had run up his arm as he struck at his enemy, and for a moment he was back there . . . amongst the strangely sweet smell of newly spilled blood and the scream of dying horses and men. He blinked, trying to rid his mind of the images.

"Perhaps. But I think he's going at it too fast. It's almost as though he thinks he has a limit on his time. And sometimes I wonder." Rosie had continued to ply her needle as they talked but now she set her work aside. "And it's coming up on the thirteenth of March. That's the reason you came early, isn't it?"

Merry shook his head. "Sam chose well in you, Rosie. There's not a lot slips past your gaze, is there."

Rosie only smiled. "I love my Sam. And he cares a lot for Mr Frodo. So I care too. I was there when he was taken sick and I reckon he knows it's going to happen again and wants to get that book done before it does for him."

"What do you mean?" asked Merry in alarm.

"Sam's told me most of what happened to them both on that journey and from what I've heard Mr Frodo was hurt in more than his body. If his body remembers the pain of his hurts and they bother him every year . . . what's happening in his mind? 'Cos Sam says that Ring took hold of his mind and hurt him."

Merry thought of his own pains, buried deep now but still ready to rise up and challenge him in the dark hours of the night, with shadowed cowl and ice white blade. "You were there last March, Rosie. What happened?"

"I wasn't in the room with him much. My Da found him in the morning. He was lying on his bed, clutching at that fine white jewel hung about his neck. Da said he seemed to be half in a dream. Kept muttering something about it being gone forever and dark and empty.

At the time we didn't know what he was talking about but I've heard enough from Sam since to make a fair guess. He was remembering the attack of that spider and then the loss of the Ring. He was badly sick for just the one day but it was several days before he was back on his feet. Mum tended him mostly but allowed me to help out sometimes.

There wasn't a lot we could do for him except make him comfortable and keep him warm when he chilled and cool when he fevered. It wasn't no good trying to talk to him. He seemed to be off somewhere else. Back in that evil mountain I expect."

Merry looked out at the fresh green spring day and could not think of a more opposite view to that which Frodo would be seeing through those fevered eyes. "But he came around from it all right?"

"Yes he did. After a few days he was almost himself and I noticed he didn't mention it when Sam came back so neither did I, until Sam found him sickly in October. Then I thought it was time to speak up and I told my husband all. For the sake of his friendship with Mr Frodo."

"Has Frodo spoken of his illnesses to you or Sam since then?" Merry asked as he watched the sun peeping through the unfurling leaves of one of the few old apple trees not destroyed.

"He could hardly deny it to Sam in October but I think he's trying to keep himself hidden from our sight in case the sickness comes back this March. I know him well enough to know by now that he'd want to keep that worry from us." Rosie rubbed her belly protectively. "That's why you came, isn't it? To help."

"To be fair . . . I also wanted to be here for the arrival of my friends first baby. But you are right. I read between the lines of Sam's notes to me and put two and two together. I thought I may be able to take some of the load off you and Sam, and help Frodo in his charade."

"You keep a close eye on him, Mr Merry. Especially around the twelfth of the month. Me and Sam will stay out of sight but we want to help. Just let us know what's needed and it'll be there. Blankets, water, food, medicines . . . we'll provide all and Mr Frodo will never know that he gave us a moments worry."

Rosie's eyes returned to the sunshine without. "Now would you look at that? It's nearly lunchtime and I'd better get moving in the kitchen or there'll be no excuse for you to pry Mr Frodo out of his study and take him for a walk this afternoon."

Merry helped pull her rotund form from the cushioned chair. "I think it's time I sang for my supper. I'll come and help you in the kitchen."

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Frodo lay still upon the couch, much as Merry had left him. "I'm back, Frodo dear. Don't you fret. Merry is here to look after you. You're not alone."

With that he spread a blanket over Frodo's now trembling figure, followed by another and knelt down to take his cousin's free hand in both his own.

"Stay with us, Frodo. We love you."

Frodo's lips moved and a whisper escaped his lips, even though his eyes remained firmly closed. "Gone. It is gone and all is dark."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Come on, cousin. You're huffing like an old gaffer going up a hill. I was right. You sit in that study far too long. It's time you got some exercise."

Frodo stopped, placing his hands on his knees as he took in a deep breath. "It's alright for you, longshanks. Be kind to your poor elderly cousin." He wheedled.

"Elderly? Frodo Baggins, you're not that old. To listen to you anyone would think you were closer to eighty than fifty." Merry stood facing him now, hands on hips.

He studied his cousin. No, Frodo's body did not look eighty. He was still trim . . . if anything he was too trim. There were no lines in his face, although he had lost the translucent skin of his earlier days. There were no roses in his cheeks, even now, walking on a steep woodland path on a mild spring day. No grey hairs peppered the glossy, burnt chestnut hair and his eyes were as clear as a summer day.

The eyes. That was where the change was wrought. They were still the deepest of blue but they had lost their sparkle. There was an almost elven quality to them. A look of someone who had seen and done more in their life than outward appearance would suggest. It was that which made Merry walk back to Frodo and lead him aside to sit upon a small group of rocks by the path.

Frodo made no noise of protest and when they were settled he was silent for a moment. He turned to look up at his cousin and Merry sensed more. Had Frodo somehow gained some of the elven gift for searching people's souls? Frodo took another deep breath, turning away to stare at the trees, and Merry relaxed.

"I feel old, Merry . . . old and weary. The journey to Mordor took all my strength and I don't seem to be able to rebuild it. I feel like an old potato sack. Fill me too much and I will rip apart."

Merry's heart burned with the injustice of it and he put an arm about his cousin's shoulders, moving closer. Frodo laid his head against his chest and closed his eyes, his voice a whisper now.

"Each day grows harder and the nights are interminable. When I close my eyes all I can see is ash heaps and flame. And there are times . . . times when . . . when I still feel the pain of that journey. And I dread those days more than anything else."

Merry rubbed his hand up and down Frodo's arm. "And one of those days is almost here, isn't it?" He felt Frodo stiffen and tilt his face up.

"How did you know?"

"Frodo, love, you should know by now that you are useless at hiding things from your friends. And Sam is so concerned about you that he is useless at hiding things from Pip and me. I know about your illness last October and March."

Frodo sighed and settled back against his shoulder. "I should have known that I could not keep it a secret. But perhaps it will not happen this thirteenth of March. Perhaps it will get better with time."

Merry looked down upon the crown of Frodo's dark curls. "And if it doesn't? What will you do then?"

Frodo brought up his hand and fished out from within his shirt a small, clear crystal gem on a fine chain. "The Lady . . . Queen Arwen gave me this. It eases the darkness a little. And I have one other option if I cannot bear it any longer."

Merry's heart stumbled and he turned his gaze to the surrounding trees, trying to contain tears. One other option? Would Frodo take that step? Surely not. Merry forced his mind onto another path. No. Frodo would not take that option. Frodo's voice slipped between the loud beating of his heart.

"I have been offered Arwen Undomiel's place upon a ship to the West. There, perhaps, my hurts will be healed or at least eased."

No. Frodo would not hurt his friends. How could he have thought that of him? Merry's heart resumed its slow steady measure of time. And yet the tears continued to build. Frodo had been there all of Merry's life. When they were younger Frodo had shown him how to climb the orchard wall. And when they were older he had written of the goings on in Hobbiton with an insight and humour that forced Merry to open his letters in private for fear of anyone asking what he was laughing at. Life without Frodo around somewhere was unthinkable. He cleared his throat. "Have you decided whether or not to go?"

He felt Frodo's head shake slowly. "No. I was hoping . . . hoping that things would get better. I don't want to leave the Shire. It's my home. And I don't want to leave my family and friends. I wanted to come back and live in peace." There was a pause and Merry glanced down to see Frodo finger the gem. "But peace grows more difficult to find with each passing day. I have been waiting for a sign . . . perhaps the abating of these illnesses. Some sign that my peace will return."

Merry squeezed Frodo's arm. "Perhaps they will. Perhaps with each anniversary the pain will grow less." Even as he said it, he could feel hear the disbelief in his voice as a cold chill ran up his own arm. If the illness did grow worse Merry would truly be without Frodo.

Frodo took a deep breath and pulled away, tucking the gem back into his shirt. "Yes. But I can feel it building. I will be ill on the thirteenth . . . whether seriously or not. And I don't want to put that burden upon Sam or Rosie. This should be a happy time for them." He sighed. "I considered going on a little trip so that I would not be at home on the thirteenth, but I don't seem to have the energy."

He turned to look at his younger cousin, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Will you help me, Merry. It is a lot to ask of you I know, but will you help me to hide this illness from them when it comes?"

"Frodo. I've already told you that you can hide nothing from Sam. What makes you think you can hide this . . . even with my help?"

Laying his hand upon Merry's wrist, Frodo pleaded. "Please, Merry. Sam and Rosie will be busy with preparations. If they do not see me they will think nothing amiss. I often spend all day in my study, sometimes working on into the night. We could say that you were helping me write down your part of the story."

For a moment, Merry was reminded of a bright and giggling older cousin tempting him to climb over the orchard wall. But there was no twinkle of mischief in Frodo's eyes, only desperation. And still Merry found he could not refuse him, any more than he could refuse the "Terror of Brandy Hall".

"Alright Frodo. I'll help you in this deception as much as I can. But I still doubt we'll slip anything past Sam."

Frodo smiled in relief. "Thank you, Merry. With your help we may yet."

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The first fingers of dawn slipped into the study and Merry watched Frodo's brow wrinkle in annoyance as light prized at his eyelids.

Merry rubbed his thumb over the back of his cousin's lax hand and Frodo's fingers tightened a little around his. Finally, the blue eyes opened and Frodo turned his head towards his helper. Dark brows drew together and pale lips clenched into a resolute line before Frodo took a deep breath.

"It was bad, wasn't it?"

Fighting to hold back a tear, Merry nodded. "Very bad."

Frodo's hand went to the jewel at his neck and he turned his face away from the rising sun. Merry knew for certain then. Frodo would be leaving them. But at least this way Frodo would be around somewhere, even though there would be no more letters. And Merry could cope with that, if it meant that Frodo would find some peace. This illness was beyond the help of even the High King.

END


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